Every night about half past ten

there's tapping ont window

It's the moth with hob nailed boots

trying to find a weak spot before 

he parascends 

through shattered glass.

Nowt will keep this tiger away from lamp

He's kitted out with mess tin and webbing

he's all camouflage and clobber

obvious to the untrained eye

that he's been on manoeuvres behind enemy lines afore. 

Some foolish person made the mistake 

of calling him a poor man's butterfly so he got his mates

from the Pie and Light 

antennae down and they had a fight.

Nobody messes with the moth with hob nailed boots.

He's put some shifts in has this fella

He's a bouncer at the ugly bug ball on Saturday nights 

he can sup a crate of ale

and tell a hair raising tale

he's afeared of no'one

he's squatted a few humans in his time

has the moth with hob nailed boots.